Waiting for Daisy: A Tale of Two Continents, Three Religions, Five Infertility Doctors, an Oscar, an Atomic Bomb, a Romantic Night, and One Woman's Quest to Become a Mother

( 35 )

Overview

“Dazzling…the platinum standard for memoirs regarding couples struggling to become parents.”—Seattle Post-Intelligencer

Peggy Orenstein’s widely hailed and bestselling memoir of her quest for parenthood begins when she tells her new husband that she’s not sure she ever wants to be a mother; it ends six years later after she’s done almost everything humanly possible to achieve that goal. Buffeted by one obstacle after another, Orenstein seeks answers both medical and spiritual in...

See more details below
Paperback (First Edition)
$12.72
BN.com price
(Save 14%)$14.95 List Price

Pick Up In Store

Reserve and pick up in 60 minutes at your local store

Other sellers (Paperback)
  • All (34) from $1.99   
  • New (11) from $7.90   
  • Used (23) from $1.99   
Waiting for Daisy: A Tale of Two Continents, Three Religions, Five Infertility Doctors, an Oscar, an Atomic Bomb, a Rom

Available on NOOK devices and apps  
  • NOOK Devices
  • NOOK HD/HD+ Tablet
  • NOOK
  • NOOK Color
  • NOOK Tablet
  • Tablet/Phone
  • NOOK for Windows 8 Tablet
  • NOOK for iOS
  • NOOK for Android
  • NOOK Kids for iPad
  • PC/Mac
  • NOOK for Windows 8
  • NOOK for PC
  • NOOK for Mac
  • NOOK Study
  • NOOK for Web

Want a NOOK? Explore Now

NOOK Book (eBook)
$10.99
BN.com price
(Save 8%)$11.99 List Price

Overview

“Dazzling…the platinum standard for memoirs regarding couples struggling to become parents.”—Seattle Post-Intelligencer

Peggy Orenstein’s widely hailed and bestselling memoir of her quest for parenthood begins when she tells her new husband that she’s not sure she ever wants to be a mother; it ends six years later after she’s done almost everything humanly possible to achieve that goal. Buffeted by one obstacle after another, Orenstein seeks answers both medical and spiritual in America and Asia, all the while trying to hold on to a marriage threatened by cycles, appointments, procedures, and disappointments. Waiting for Daisy is both an intimate page-turner and a wrly funny report from the front.

Read More Show Less

Editorial Reviews

From the Publisher

“Suspenseful [and] unsparing…Orenstein’s interrogation of her own profiteering pregnancy retinue comes across as a welcome, even necessary exposé.” —New York Times Book Review

“Orenstein's memoir is not just hers; it is the story of a generation of women who dared to wait for motherhood, took risks to achieve it and were brave enough to question their decisions every step of the way." —More

“Just when you think there is no more to say about the comedy and tragedy of infertility, Peggy Orenstein comes along and changes your mind…Daisy is a fine meditation on what it means to live a fulfilled life.” —People

“Riveting...It’s no small feat to write a page turner that gives away the ending on the dust jacket, but Waiting for Daisy is more than just the Perils of Peggy. Orenstein has written a memoir, a confession, a polemic and a love story all at once.” —Los Angeles Times

Anne Glusker
As Daisy moves on through life, and her mother and father move with her through the parenting maze, it would be interesting to hear Orenstein's intelligent, skeptical voice ruminate on the next stages. For if any writer has the verve and tenacity to supersede the typecasting of Mommy Lit, it's Orenstein.
— The Washington Post
Publishers Weekly
The author of Schoolgirls: Young Women, Self-Esteem, and the Confidence Gap, Orenstein now offers a very personal account of her road to becoming a mother. Orenstein was a happily married 35-year-old when she decided she wanted to have a baby. While she knew it might not be easy (she had only one ovary and was heading into her late 30s), she had no idea of the troubles she'd face. First, she was diagnosed with breast cancer, fortunately treatable. After waiting the recommended recovery period, she miscarried with a dangerous "partial molar pregnancy," so she had to avoid becoming pregnant for at least six months. Soon she was riding the infertility roller coaster full-time, trying everything from acupuncture to IVF and egg donation. She endured depression and more miscarriages while spending untold thousands of dollars. Even her very understanding husband was beginning to lose patience, when, surprisingly, she got pregnant with her daughter, Daisy. While readers don't have to be fertility obsessed to enjoy this very witty memoir (with its ungainly subtitle), for the growing number of women struggling with infertility this book may become their new best friend. (Feb.) Copyright 2006 Reed Business Information.
Kirkus Reviews
Orenstein (Schoolgirls, 1994, etc.) chronicles her tortuous journey to motherhood. The author was 35, involved in a busy, successful career as a journalist and ambivalent about having a child, when her filmmaker husband broached the subject. A diagnosis of breast cancer six weeks later put the baby plans on hold, and Orenstein was 36 before she began trying in earnest to get pregnant. Her witty presentation of such nitty-gritty details as temperature charts, cervical-mucous consistency, sperm counts and timed intercourse at first make her memoir an amusing read. The mood shifts, however, with a pregnancy that ends in miscarriage, followed by another and then a third. One of the book's most moving chapters, which appeared in slightly different form in the New York Times Magazine, recounts the author's visit to a Buddhist temple in Tokyo; red-capped statues of infants lined the temple's shady path, offering ritual acknowledgement of the loss felt by women who miscarry a fetus (a taboo subject in the West). Orenstein's obsession with becoming pregnant increasingly placed a strain on her marriage. It eventually led her to spend thousands of dollars for in-vitro fertilization at clinics whose staff acted more like salesmen than doctors and treated her more like a customer than a patient. She tried acupuncture, another less-than-happy experience, and implantation of a donor egg, which failed. She and her Japanese-American husband finally decided to adopt a Japanese baby boy. That red-tape-snarled transaction became even more complicated when Orenstein discovered she was again pregnant. Would she end up with two babies, one or none? The answer is in the title. Intimate, funny/sad and remarkablyself-revealing.
Read More Show Less

Product Details

  • ISBN-13: 9781596912106
  • Publisher: Bloomsbury USA
  • Publication date: 12/26/2007
  • Edition description: First Edition
  • Edition number: 1
  • Pages: 256
  • Sales rank: 719,953
  • Product dimensions: 5.86 (w) x 7.83 (h) x 0.66 (d)

Meet the Author

Peggy Orenstein

Peggy Orenstein is the author of Schoolgirls: Young Women, Self- Esteem, and the Confidence Gap and Flux: Women on Sex, Work, Love, Kids, and Life in a Half-Changed World. A contributing writer to the New York Times Magazine, she has also written for the Los Angeles Times, USA Today, Elle, Vogue, Parenting, Discover, More, Mother Jones, Salon, and the New Yorker. She lives in the San Francisco Bay Area with her husband, Steven Okazaki, and their daughter, Daisy.

Read More Show Less

Read an Excerpt

Waiting for Daisy


By Peggy Orenstein

Bloomsbury

Copyright © 2007 Peggy Orenstein
All right reserved.

ISBN: 978-1-59691-017-1


Chapter One

TO HAVE OR HAVE NOT

* * *

My first birthday, Thanksgiving 1962. My aunts, uncles, and cousins are all in attendance. I am wearing a blue velvet dress, my chubby legs stuffed into white tights; my feet, which have yet to master walking, strapped into patent leather Mary Janes. A few pale, wispy curls are beginning to sprout on my head, though I don't have any hair worth mentioning. My mother has compensated by taping a blue bow to my pate, which I periodically rip off and stuff into my mouth.

As a Bell & Howell whirs, I tear into my birthday gifts, more focused on shredding the brightly colored paper than on the toys that lay within. My father steps into the frame, his hair still black, his face hopeful. He is seven years younger than I am now. Clearly excited, he presents me with my first baby doll, placing it in my arms. I am his only daughter. I glance at the doll, frown, and fling it out of sight. He fetches it and once again, patiently, sets it in my arms. This time I begin to cry and hold the doll by its foot, dropping it on the floor. My father tries one more time with similar results; the camera jerks and the image sputters.

What happened then, during those undocumented moments? Someone must've continued to cajole. Someone must've expressed disappointment. Someone must've demonstrated what was expected of me. Someone must've said, "Don't you want to be a mommy, like Mommy?" Because when the film rolls again, I gingerly cradle the baby doll, still sniffling a little, seeming anxious. I look up eagerly for approval from my parents, who are squatting next to me. This is my first foray into motherhood.

At eleven, I befriended Tibetha Shaw, who had untamed orange hair and was the only girl in the sixth grade of John Burroughs Elementary School to wear black all the time. Her mother, unlike those of the rest of my friends, worked outside the home and had an apron that read HOUSEWORK IS BULLSHIT in three-inch capital letters. At the Shaws' there was dust on the furniture. There was no adult supervision after school. Tibetha and I gorged on store-bought cookies and pored over Ms. magazine, which had recently resurrected the comic book icon Wonder Woman. Inspired by her, we fastened towels around our necks with clothespins and-in every working mom's nightmare of what the kids are up to in her absence-climbed a ladder onto the roof of the garage. The distance to the next building was slightly longer than a leggy eleven-year-old's stride, yet we took deep breaths and leapt-screaming, "WONDER WOMAN! WONDER WOMAN!"-flying from roof to roof and back again, towel capes streaming behind us. It was my first foray into feminism.

My understanding of the women's movement may have grown more nuanced over the years, but that sense of exhilaration remained. Feminism provided me with an escape route, an out from my parents' limited expectations, a chance to define for myself the person I wanted to be. Yet, even while soaring through space-whether the rooftops were real or metaphoric-I was conscious of the drop, never quite sure how far my towel cape would carry me. As an editorial assistant at Esquire magazine, I was peanut gallery to 1980s literary New York, an extra at cocktail parties for the likes of Jay McInerney, Tom Wolfe, and Tama Janowitz. Occasionally, while stuffing myself with free hors d'oeuvres (popping a few in my purse to supplement my $250 a week paycheck), I'd notice that there weren't many mothers in the room. There were few among the editors I worked with either, and virtually none among the writers. The same was true several years later, when I moved on to San Francisco. Their absence left me vaguely uneasy; was this evidence of progress-women no longer needed children for fulfillment-or its opposite? Could it be that things hadn't changed as much as I'd thought? And if they hadn't, in which world did I belong? "I'm not sure I want to have kids," I told my friends. "I'm not sure I want to have kids," I told my gynecologist. "I'm not sure I want to have kids," I told my editor. (She fixed my manuscripts, why not my life?) They all gave the same reply: "Don't worry about it, Peggy, you have plenty of time."

I believed them; I was in my mid-twenties. I thought I had all the time in the world.

I fell in love with Steven Okazaki on a postcard. We'd gone on one date, an after-work drink that deepened into dinner, but it hadn't gone well. I was newly out of a bruising relationship and knocked back a couple of Stolis to calm my nerves. Here's something to know about me: I can't hold my liquor. As my rational self watched from a helpless, anesthetized distance, my soused evil twin ran her mouth, spewing bile about former beaux and announcing, "If you're looking for anything serious, I'm not interested."

Luckily, he didn't believe me. "Women always say that kind of stuff when they like you," he'd joke later. We hugged goodbye awkwardly in the parking lot. A documentary filmmaker, Steven was leaving the next day for a shoot on the Big Island of Hawaii. "Call me!" I chirped, though after my performance that evening I figured I'd never hear from him again.

Then the card arrived, a photo of the lava flow on Mt. Kilauea. On the back, a note, jotted as if we were mid-conversation.

Last night on the Big Island there was a bad storm. Several boats were beached and sections of highway were temporarily washed out. I was having dinner with a pig breeder and his family near a town called Honaunau. The sound of the wind and rain on their tin roof was nearly deafening. The farmer noted that the roads would get dangerous and maybe I should spend the night. He said, "You can wear my pajamas and sleep in the kitchen." I thought, "No way, man. I want my hotel room." As I took the perilous journey home, I felt ashamed but frankly relieved. One doesn't have to experience everything, does one?

Forget roses; I'm a sucker for a man who has a way with words.

We shared our first breakfast shortly after he returned, gazing starry-eyed at each other across our eggs in a Berkeley diner. Steven was tall and stocky with a shock of black hair that was just beginning to gray, diamond-cut cheekbones, and eyes as warm as anything I'd ever seen. I loved the scratch in his voice, the touch of his skin, his dedication to a life of purpose and creativity. I admired the confidence he had in his own vision; I was still a magazine editor then, unable to work up the nerve to quit and write full-time. Steven was not the man I imagined I'd be with-nearly ten years older, Japanese American, a gentile-but soul mates don't always come in predictable packages.

He mentioned he'd grown up with four sisters. "I always thought I'd have a big family," he said.

I cut him off. "Well, I don't know if I want to have children at all."

"Really? Why not?"

"Why do you want them?"

This was when I first discovered my future husband's habit of speaking in set pieces. "I guess I think of life as kind of like an amusement park," he said. "If you're going to go, you should ride every ride at least once. And having kids is like the big, scary roller coaster. You can have a good time without riding it, but you would've missed a significant part of the experience."

"I get sick on roller coasters," I deadpanned, then added, "Besides, 'One doesn't have to experience everything, does one?' "

He raised an eyebrow.

"Look," I said. "I don't want anyone to make any assumptions about me or how I'll live my life. I don't want to do something just because it's expected, because everyone else does it. Maybe I'll change my mind, but there are a lot of other things I want to do besides have children."

"There's no way I can have a baby now." It had been two years since Steven and I had married, since I'd moved across the Great Waters from my overpriced apartment in San Francisco to his rent-controlled one in Berkeley. I'd simultaneously taken the leap into writing; my first book, Schoolgirls, about the challenges young women face in their teens, had just come out to flattering reviews. Suddenly I was fielding calls from Good Morning America, Nightline, and Fresh Air; lecturing at universities; giving keynote addresses at national conferences. My agent-a forceful, older woman who'd opted against motherhood-warned me, "You have to sell another book idea right now. If you wait a year, forget it. No one will remember you." I'd dreamed of this kind of success since publishing my first story in my high school newspaper at age fifteen. But I wasn't fifteen anymore. I was thirty-two.

How could I possibly cut back to take care of an infant? Sometime later, Joyce Purnick, Metro editor of the New York Times (who did not have kids), would tell graduating seniors at Barnard, "If I had left the Times to have children and then come back to work a four-day week ... or left the office at six o'clock instead of eight or nine, I wouldn't be Metro editor." She was probably right, but how grim was that? Maybe I wanted children, maybe I didn't, but I wanted the decision to be a choice, not a mandate. Last time I checked, childlessness was only supposed to be a condition of career advancement for nuns.

My own mother was no help. She had married at twenty, moving directly from her parents' home to her new life with her twenty-four-year-old husband. Within five years she'd stopped teaching elementary school to raise her children. We shared so little experience that without a child myself, I sometimes felt as if we were, if not a different species, at least different sexes. "Your life is so unlike mine," she'd say. "I can't even imagine it." I longed for a mother who could be a mentor, someone I could turn to for wisdom and guidance. Her limits made me short-tempered. Stop being such a bitch, I'd tell myself, which only turned my anger to guilt. I'd rather not have children, I'd think, than have a daughter who someday felt this way about me.

That's too easy, though. It wasn't just hostility I felt around my mother, it was inadequacy. I had loved my early childhood with her. We'd spent long hours playing beauty parlor and tea party, baking holiday cookies. On Saturday nights I would swoon when she left with my dad in a cloud of Rive Gauche perfume, so glamorous in her fox-trimmed coat. I wanted to be just like her-a mommy just like Mommy. Thirty years later, part of me still did. Although I publicly stood up for working mothers and day care, I knew that, for me, motherhood meant one thing: being there for your children like my mom had been there for me. I believed the responsibility for taking care of children would, bottom line, be mine, even if I was the one who had to swap my dreams for drudgery. It didn't matter that Steven expected to be an equal parent. ("I'll make a great mom," he'd brag.) The issue wasn't whether I wanted to turn into my mother if I had a child or even whether I feared I would; it was that I believed I should.

With Steven, I dodged the subject. "We'll talk about it later," I'd promise when he brought it up. "When we have more time." Or: "When I'm not traveling so much." Or: "When we're on vacation." Or: "At the end of the year." Or, simply: "Not now." There was no way he could pin me down. I bobbed, I weaved, I changed the subject, and if none of that worked, I gave him The Stare. "You have no idea how hard it is to get past that look," he'd complain, though of course I did. The Stare had taken me years to perfect: it was my force field, repelling all comers-my parents, lovers, friends, colleagues-who broached a subject that felt too raw to discuss.

The only time in twenty years that I ever had a fight with my friend Robin was at a girls' night dinner party on New York's Upper West Side, when I mouthed off about mothers who dropped their careers rather than demand that their husbands do the laundry. I was in town doing interviews for my next book, Flux, about how women make their personal and professional choices. A group of full-time moms I'd talked to that afternoon had claimed that staying home was a feminist right. I disagreed. "I don't know why women who make the pre-Betty Freidan choices think they won't end up with the pre-Betty Freidan results," I quipped.

"What about me?" asked Robin, sharply. She'd been a television news producer before staying home with her three kids. Her husband managed a hedge fund. "Is that what you think of me?"

I wasn't sure how to respond; the truth was, yes, I did feel that way about her, though I'd never say so to her face. My hesitation only made her madder. "You have no idea what it means to be married to someone who works twelve hours a day. If I kept working, I'd still have to do everything at home. It's just not realistic.

"I'm not stupid," she added. "I know the potential traps here. I knew what I was getting into. And I chose this."

"But how much of a choice is it," I asked, "if nothing else seemed possible?"

Nearly all of my girlfriends were having children, and one by one, like Robin, they'd dropped out of the workforce. The minds that once produced sparkling prose or defended abused children were now obsessed with picking the right preschool or competing to throw the most elaborate Pocahontas birthday party. Sometimes they seemed to me like something out of Invasion of the Body Snatchers. Who were these women and what had they done with my friends? Sure, a few were content, but most, if not exactly unhappy, seemed trapped-fretting over what they'd do when the kids were older, worried that they'd never escape the stroller set. I was disappointed by how readily they'd fallen on the sword of traditional motherhood, how reluctant they were to assert their needs, how loath to rock the boat of their husbands' careers. They weren't the role models I wanted-needed-them to be. These were, after all, women I loved and respected. If they couldn't make it all work, how could I?

My working mom friends weren't much better, perpetually exhausted and resentful. One commented that Steven and I had the best marriage she knew. "That's because we don't have kids," I said, laughing, but I meant it. Steven and I had a great time together, traveling to Hawaii, Asia, and Europe; going to the movies; spending the weekend in bed. He read the first drafts of my articles; I watched the rough cuts of his films. He was my best friend. Maybe a baby would bring us even closer, but that wasn't what I saw around me. So many women were smitten with their children while begrudging everything their husbands did or didn't do: Kids may have been the glue holding couples together, but they were also the wedge driving them apart.

And yet. There were moments when I could almost feel the weight of a child in my arms, when I sensed that if I looked over my shoulder while driving, I would see an infant seat with a curly-haired bundle looking back at me. I would imagine the songs we'd sing together, the games we'd play, the books we'd read. Pasting photos into an album, I would recall leafing through old pictures of my mother, my father, my grandparents. Who would see these? Who would care?

One night, when I was thirty-three, I walked into the living room of our rented house in the rustic (read: lots of weeds, aggressive deer, druggie neighbors) Berkeley Hills. Steven was lying on the couch reading Mojo, a British music rag for guys who own everything-on vinyl-that the Kinks ever recorded. The floor beneath him slanted steeply for reasons that in Northern California were best not to consider; he had put shims of varying heights under all the furniture to make it appear level. On the upside, the house was large, with three ample bedrooms, two of which were glaringly empty.

"What do you think of the name 'Cleo' for a baby?" I asked him.

He put down the magazine and sat up. "Peg, we don't have a baby."

"Well, maybe we should."

"Really?" he said, skeptically. "Is that what you want?"

"I don't know," I sighed. "Maybe we shouldn't."

He shook his head, dramatically picking up his magazine. "Let me know when you want to talk about having a baby and then I'll talk about names."

"Okay," I said, "so what do you think we should do?"

"I don't want to do it unless we both want to. I don't want you ever to say, 'You talked me into this.' And if you don't want to do it, I'll be fine. I won't have that many regrets." It was all very self-actualized, very reasonable, except for this: punting the decision back to me effectively let Steven off the hook. He, too, put a premium on freedom, the time to pursue creative work, to travel, and, in his case, to lie on the couch reading Mojo. This was a guy who had stayed single until he was forty; he wasn't so eager himself to take on the responsibilities and lifestyle of parenting. My indecision played neatly-maybe too neatly-into his own.

(Continues...)



Excerpted from Waiting for Daisy by Peggy Orenstein Copyright © 2007 by Peggy Orenstein. Excerpted by permission.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

Read More Show Less

Customer Reviews

Average Rating 4.5
( 35 )
Rating Distribution

5 Star

(27)

4 Star

(2)

3 Star

(4)

2 Star

(1)

1 Star

(1)

Your Rating:

Your Name: Create a Pen Name or

Barnes & Noble.com Review Rules

Our reader reviews allow you to share your comments on titles you liked, or didn't, with others. By submitting an online review, you are representing to Barnes & Noble.com that all information contained in your review is original and accurate in all respects, and that the submission of such content by you and the posting of such content by Barnes & Noble.com does not and will not violate the rights of any third party. Please follow the rules below to help ensure that your review can be posted.

Reviews by Our Customers Under the Age of 13

We highly value and respect everyone's opinion concerning the titles we offer. However, we cannot allow persons under the age of 13 to have accounts at BN.com or to post customer reviews. Please see our Terms of Use for more details.

What to exclude from your review:

Please do not write about reviews, commentary, or information posted on the product page. If you see any errors in the information on the product page, please send us an email.

Reviews should not contain any of the following:

  • - HTML tags, profanity, obscenities, vulgarities, or comments that defame anyone
  • - Time-sensitive information such as tour dates, signings, lectures, etc.
  • - Single-word reviews. Other people will read your review to discover why you liked or didn't like the title. Be descriptive.
  • - Comments focusing on the author or that may ruin the ending for others
  • - Phone numbers, addresses, URLs
  • - Pricing and availability information or alternative ordering information
  • - Advertisements or commercial solicitation

Reminder:

  • - By submitting a review, you grant to Barnes & Noble.com and its sublicensees the royalty-free, perpetual, irrevocable right and license to use the review in accordance with the Barnes & Noble.com Terms of Use.
  • - Barnes & Noble.com reserves the right not to post any review -- particularly those that do not follow the terms and conditions of these Rules. Barnes & Noble.com also reserves the right to remove any review at any time without notice.
  • - See Terms of Use for other conditions and disclaimers.
Search for Products You'd Like to Recommend

Recommend other products that relate to your review. Just search for them below and share!

Create a Pen Name

Your Pen Name is your unique identity on BN.com. It will appear on the reviews you write and other website activities. Your Pen Name cannot be edited, changed or deleted once submitted.

 
Your Pen Name can be any combination of alphanumeric characters (plus - and _), and must be at least two characters long.

Continue Anonymously
See All Sort by: Showing 1 – 20 of 35 Customer Reviews
  • Anonymous

    Posted February 21, 2007

    This book will capture your heart

    Waiting for Daisy is that rare extraordinary book that takes up an immediate and permanent spot in your heart. This is a book that may possibly change your life. The framework for this amazing story is one woman¿s articulate narration of an infertility ordeal. From the decision to have a child through difficulty in conception, from the grinding trial of the infertility industry to the agony of frustrated efforts, Peggy paints an emotional portrait of what so many women endure. Her sympathetic sharing of her own struggle is an outstanding addition to this field of literature and makes Daisy worth reading for anyone, but for any member of the reluctant sisterhood of infertility, it should be considered required reading. But where most infertility books begin and end with what is unquestionably a consuming drama, Peggy goes beyond and explores topics which enrich the story immeasurably. Her bout with cancer, the saga of the survivors of Hiroshima, the choices of women in a modern professional society: these topics and others are explored with insight and empathy and contribute to the recurring theme of her infertility in an unexpected but rewarding way. Perhaps the most surprising but ultimately resonant thread is Peggy¿s emphasis on her relationship with her husband. Her interactions with him, and the effects of her actions and choices on their mutual relationship, are given equal weight with her attempts to deal with her fertility issues. The book somehow becomes as much a story of faith in each other, of the miracle of unshakeable love between a man and a woman, of making mistakes, of honesty, and of repentance and forgiveness. Her unflinching analysis of how her relationship weathered the storm makes Daisy as much a manual on marriage as it is on motherhood. This book will win your heart. Peggy¿s style, which is so personal and real that you almost imagine her sitting with you as you read her words, draws you in and captivates you from the first page. You will laugh and cry and most of all you will be enlightened and inspired in so many ways. And when you are done, you will tell everyone you know to read it too.

    3 out of 3 people found this review helpful.

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Anonymous

    Posted February 23, 2007

    Stunning Portrait of a Marriage

    This book is nothing short of a stunning tour de force! At first I thought, why would I read a book about a woman's battle with infertility?? I don't have children and am not trying to get pregnant right now. And noone I know is suffering through this kind of harrowing ordeal. But I read Peggy's last book, Flux and absolutely loved it. I made my bookclub read it and raved about it to everyone I knew. So when I heard 'Waiting For Daisy' was coming out, I thought, why not? And what I discovered surprised me deeply. This book is not just about Peggy's excruciating experiences trying to become a Mother. It's also a profoundly intimate portrait of her marriage and the kind of love that transcends grief, loss and disappointment. At times, her searing portrayal of the toll that her quest for a child takes on her marriage is so intensely personal that I feel as if I am literally sitting at her kitchen table as the events unfold. She spares nothing and shows their shared joy at the first pregnancy and the profound disppointment at the subsequent miscarriage and successive harrowing attempts at fertility treatment. Through it all, she paints her husband Steven in such a fully multidimentional way that I feel as if I've known him for years. And above all I come to see the love they have for each other and the way that that loves sustains in spite of the anger, tears, frustration and longing. As a single woman, witnessing that kind of loyalty and steadfastness in this day and age of 50% divorce rates is profoundly reassuring. It may sound cliched, but her writing is truly transcendent. I didn't think it was possible to laugh and cry at the same time. Peggy has the phenomenal ability to convey heartbreak with wit and humour, and laces in truly hysterical vignettes with bittersweet moments. And all with absolutely no trace of maudlin or sappy prose. And through it all, the book is a veritable nailbiter that you can't put down. It's probably the first book I've ever been truly tempted to turn to the end to find out exactly how it turns out! I strongly recommend this book to everyone woman or man who's ever wanted to see what a truly incredible marriage looks like and how you can survive just about anything if you have love on your side.

    2 out of 2 people found this review helpful.

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Anonymous

    Posted February 15, 2007

    Captures the Experience Perfectly and Is Beautifully Written

    I am in the throws of infertility treatment, and this book was a tremendous help to me. Even though I have been open with my friends and family about what I'm going through (I've just completed injections and am moving onto IVF), and even though they have been sympathetic, I have often felt as though no one can truly understand how painful, draining, and frustrating this process has been for me and my husband. Waiting for Daisy captured many of these emotions perfectly for me, and managed to somehow insert a little spot-on humor into the whole situation that, for the first time, helped me to laugh at the absurd nature of everything I've had to endure. At one point Peggy Orenstein writes about the Clomid spiral, comparing it to cautionary tales of drug addiction -- first you pop a little Clomid, then next thing you know you're taking out a second mortgage on your home to pay for IVF. I laughed out loud at this passage. Just last year I took my first Clomid, thinking that I'd immediately get pregnant. Just yesterday I was calculating whether I should consider a home equity loan for IVF. Likewise, when the author describes how she didn't buy clothes for 3 years because she kept expecting to get pregnant, I was moved by how this little detail sums up the experiencing of being in a holding pattern for years because you know that your life will change at any moment once you get pregnant. For example, I didn't take a 'real' vacation for a year and a half, always expecting to need my vacation time to tack onto my maternity leave. Other passages have moved me to tears, since the author gives voice to the pain I am experiencing the roller coaster of periods coming, of trying to maintain some amount of hope when all I have felt is despair, and of trying to protect my marriage throughout the entire process. Please read this book if you are going through infertility treatments, know someone who is, or even if you just want to read an authentic, beautiful story.

    2 out of 2 people found this review helpful.

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Anonymous

    Posted June 4, 2012

    You should get it

    The sample it self is interesting

    1 out of 7 people found this review helpful.

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Anonymous

    Posted March 16, 2009

    The perfect book for anyone stuggling with infertility - great story

    I loved this book! It has the perfect balance of detail and storyline. In many ways, it goes through a lot of the emotional issues my husband and I have been working through with our infertility.

    1 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Anonymous

    Posted February 17, 2007

    What a wonderful story

    I loved this book. I hate reading technical books on infertility. I like to read real stories about it and how people dealt with it. This book did just that.

    1 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Anonymous

    Posted April 14, 2007

    Quick Read, but not inspiring

    This book is very readable, and the author does tell a good story. My only problem with the book is that she is so ambivalent about wanting a child throughout most of the book, you are left wondering where her struggle is coming from. Worth reading, but not that inspiring.

    1 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Anonymous

    Posted January 3, 2013

    Realy enjoyed this!

    I thought this book could have been written just for me! I liked the humor, it read quickly, and had heart. Finally a book I wanted to pass on to a friend.

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Anonymous

    Posted July 18, 2012

    Peggy Orenstein does a brilliant job of bringing highs, lows, an

    Peggy Orenstein does a brilliant job of bringing highs, lows, and humor to the hard path of infertility. Bravo.

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Posted July 13, 2012

    UGH!!!!!!!!!!

    This was the worst book I ever read. Very slow going and boring. I didn't enjoy one second of this book. If I could give it a half star I would.
    Very stupid.

    0 out of 4 people found this review helpful.

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Anonymous

    Posted June 22, 2012

    My twins arrived after 2.5 years of infertility, countless tests

    My twins arrived after 2.5 years of infertility, countless tests, injections, and ridiculous suggestions from people trying to be "helpful"..."Just relax, it'll happen", ect. I felt cut off from lifelong friends and family members who could conceive so easily. Thankfully, I found a wonderful group of infertiles to suffer through with me. I wish I'd had this book ten years ago as well! It is painfully honest and while I'm a decade removed from my own struggle, I could still feel the author's pain.
    I highly recommend to anyone fighting the fight...if you have ever fought infertility and felt that you were alone, you should read this book. Again, I wish it'd been around ten years ago.

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Posted August 12, 2009

    An inspiring book

    I usually don't write many reviews, but this was a special story. I recommend it not only for anyone dealing with fertility issues, but really for anyone contemplating becoming a mom (or dad) - it is a wonderful book and will make you laugh and cry and actually bite your nails at the end. Thank you Ms Orenstein!

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Anonymous

    Posted October 16, 2007

    Heartbreakingly, Inspiringly Well-Written. A Wonderful Book

    I cannot say enough good things about this book. As someone going through the frustrating early phase of 'fertility issues', i truly felt like someone understood where I am right now and came out on the other side of it. I would recommend this book to anyone tackling their own fertility journey--or supporting someone who is going through difficult times trying to conceive. It's an engrossing read that I could not put down. Peggy Orenstein's candor combined with her amazing strength make for a truly incredible book.

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Anonymous

    Posted October 15, 2007

    Couldn't put it down

    This had to have been a tough book to write. It's so honest and moving. It's rare I find a book that I literally can't put down. This is one.

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Anonymous

    Posted September 13, 2007

    Poignant, funny, and on-the-mark!

    Peggy Orenstein's portrayal of a quest for a child in 'Waiting for Daisy' is candid and humorous. I enjoyed every chapter of this thought-provoking book. Orenstein's honest eloquence in expressing her feelings throughout her incredible journey moved me so much. Time and time again, I found myself thinking, 'I thought I was the only one who felt that way!' Whether you have ever been through any of Ms. Orenstein's challenges: cancer, infertility, IVF treatments, and adoption attempts, or whether you have simply felt somewhat ambivalent about parenthood.... this book is for you.

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Anonymous

    Posted February 21, 2007

    Wonderful!

    This book really touched my heart. As someone who has walked the same path as the author, it helped to read that someone else felt as I did.

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Anonymous

    Posted April 18, 2007

    Well-written and thought-provoking

    I highly recommend that anyone experiencing fertility challenges read this book. After you do, come back and read this review. While this book is beautifully written, entertaining at times and extremely moving, I did not feel inspired to follow in the author¿s footsteps. As someone who is in the midst of infertility, I seek hope at every corner. The author¿s quest to conceive a biological child had many significant costs. While she inevitably succeeds in giving birth to her daughter, Daisy, I wonder how she would feel about her quest now, had she not been so lucky. To what lengths would she have sacrificed her health, her marriage, and even her own sanity to achieve her goal? At what point do you say your own life is worth something, that it should be preserved, nourished, and celebrated to the utmost so that when the time is right to receive a child you can offer him or her the unconditional love he or she deserves? If ¿getting a baby¿ means risking your health, your marriage, and ultimately your happiness, what hope do we have for showing children how to love themselves? While I can relate to the issues the author experienced on her journey time and time again, this book was the final straw that allowed me to redirect my own fertility journey on a path filled with greater love for myself, my husband and my own cherished life. Please also see my review for Julia Indichova's Inconceivable.

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Anonymous

    Posted March 21, 2007

    Loving It!

    This Book Was Very Seductive It Was Interesting I Read It As A Biograghy For A School Project And We Had To Dress Up Like The Author And The Class Enjoyed My Acting.This Book Was Helpful In My Ways!

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Anonymous

    Posted March 26, 2007

    A personal thrill for me.

    After having my own rough road, it was so refreshing to be able find a 'kindred spirit.' My experience with this book was personal. Peggy Orenstein conveyed all the emotions and frustrations that I went through. I will recommend this book to my friends and family that can identify with the struggles of cancer and infertility. Those that haven't been through either may have a hard time getting through the book, but if you can accept the book for what it is - a journal - then you may love it as much as I did.

    0 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Anonymous

    Posted March 27, 2007

    Beautiful, Honest Writing About An Unbelievable Experience

    I found Waiting for Daisy a courageous and honest account of how infertility can turn into a obsessive spiral, blinding people from some of the most dear things in life. Having struggled with infertility, I could relate to many of Peggy's experiences. But I could have never described them so eloquently or honestly, and with humor¿I would have rather dug a hole and never come out. I'm grateful to her for her openness and for willing to be vulnerable. I shed many, many tears throughout the book, which was hard to put down each night. Highly, highly recommended!

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
See All Sort by: Showing 1 – 20 of 35 Customer Reviews

If you find inappropriate content, please report it to Barnes & Noble
Why is this product inappropriate?
Comments (optional)